


I'm not where I'm supposed to be, (I hope that you're missing me)

by Squeaky



Series: The Soulmate Series (no one asked for) [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, But no one really dies, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, OTP: Till the End of the Line, Sam Wilson is a Gift, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmate-Identifying Timers, Steve Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 03:03:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13941201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squeaky/pseuds/Squeaky
Summary: Eleven-year-old Steve Rogers couldn't have been happier when his Timer buzzed when he met James 'Bucky' Barnes the night before his heart surgery. He knows he'll love Bucky forever. But he never gets the chance. Bucky never tries to find him and Steve doesn't know why.Twelve-year-old Bucky is thrilled to meet Steve. He just knows that his soulmate will love him better than anyone else in his whole life. But he loses Steve before their lives together can even start. His Timer resets, which means that Steve has died, and even worse, the Universe has paired him with someone else. Someone he never wants to meet. He joins the army with his beloved cousin, Clint, to do something good with his life like Steve would've wanted. Its not perfect, but it's good. Until he finds himself bleeding out in the sand...Years pass, and Steve is still waiting for Bucky to reappear. He doesn't know where Bucky is, but as long as his Timer is set to zero, he knows Bucky is alive and where there's life, there's hope. Things aren't perfect, but they're good. Until he finds himself staring at a Timer that's started counting down again and is no longer resting at zero...





	I'm not where I'm supposed to be, (I hope that you're missing me)

**Author's Note:**

> **Important Note: This story involves the presumed death of both Steve and Bucky, and references Bucky being abused as a child. There is also a mention of self-harm. Please do not read if this will trigger you.**
> 
>  
> 
> And I am totally thanking my BFF [ Taste_is_Sweet ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_is_Sweet/pseuds/Taste_is_Sweet) for giving this sucker a fantastic and super-fast beta. Considering I made her go over every single plot point with me already, the fact she'd even consent to read it at all shows exactly how amazing she is. 
> 
> The sad-but-fitting title for this story was affectionately seconded from: [ Sober Up (Featuring Rivers Cuomo) ](https://youtu.be/DC_TrsY7U3A) by AJR. A kick-ass and totally fun song with a deeper message. It's gotten a lot of radio-play. Maybe you've heard it. 
> 
> This is the fifth story in my abuse-of-tropes Stucky soulmate series. I am still a miserable failure at posting these once a month. Sorry.
> 
> * * *

Steve Rogers was hungry.

He looked over at the side of his hospital bed, where his mom was curled up in the uncomfortable chair by his bedside. Her head was on the armrest, strands of her long blond hair failing into her face where it’d come loose from its ponytail. Even in the dim light Steve could see the dark circles under her eyes, carved there from exhaustion and months of worry. 

He wasn’t going to wake her. 

He glanced at the clock radio that his mother had brought for him a few days ago, so he could listen to the radio when she couldn’t be there. He’d rather have an iPhone to play music from, or even an iPod to listen to, but he knew those things were expensive and his mother couldn’t afford them. He’d work if he could, but he was too young and he’d been sick for too long, so he had a clock radio instead. She’d given it to him without a box, so he figured it’d come from a second-hand store, but his mom had found it for him to make him happy. He loved it. 

The time read 10:30 in big, glowing blue numbers, which meant that Steve still had time to grab a snack and eat it before the magical hour of midnight, when he had to stop eating and drinking in preparation for tomorrow’s surgery. 

_Surgery._ He shuddered. 

He straightened his spine. There was no sense in worrying about what he couldn’t change. He needed the surgery and he was going to get it, and that was that. His mother had assured him that _Maria Stark Memorial_ was one of the best places in all of New York City—if not the _world_ —for him to have it done, and his mother never lied. 

So, the fact he had a bad feeling about it probably didn’t mean anything except that he had an overactive imagination. He wanted to be an artist after all, his imagination was pretty big. 

He glanced down at the Timer ticking away on his right wrist, a small green glow against his pale skin. It’d been installed when he was five days old, just like was done for all babies. It was some kind of amazing technology that somehow knew when you were going to meet your soulmate. The numbers started counting down as soon as it was installed and went to zero when you met the One. For most people the numbers were large enough that they had to wait until they were in their late twenties or early thirties before meeting their soulmate. Steve’s had always showed that he’d meet his soulmate when he was eleven, which had seemed really cool before he got sick, but now seemed kind of overwhelming. The fact that it was going to reach zero hours before his surgery was also part of the reason why Steve was a little scared. What if he met his soulmate and then he died? He shook his head to get rid of the thought. Things like that didn’t happen. Well, maybe they did, but mostly only in the really sad movies that his mom liked to watch sometimes. She usually ended up crying when she watched them, and talking about Steve’s father and how terrible it’d been when he died. 

Steve didn’t want to meet his soulmate and then die on them. That was awful. He rubbed his wrist as if the motion could erase the numbers rapidly cycling down to zero. He couldn’t even feel them beneath his fingertips, just a gentle warmth from the glowing numbers.

His stomach growled, breaking through his thoughts and pushing him back into action. He leaned over and opened the drawer in his side table and took out the two dollars in coins he’d left there. It wasn’t much, but it should be enough for a candy bar from the vending machine in the Emergency Department. It was the only place in the whole hospital that had the candy bars he liked, and if wasn’t able to eat anything but Jell-O for more than a _whole day_ after his surgery, then he was for sure going to have his favourite treat. 

Carefully, Steve slipped out of the bed and gently wheeled his IV pole towards the door. He had to pause every few steps to catch his breath, and the floor was cold under his bare feet, but he just grit his teeth against the discomfort. His hospital gown was open at the back, but he had pajama pants on, which at least meant his butt wasn’t hanging out for everyone to see. He wished he could wear the top, too, especially since they were his Iron Man pair, but his nurse had told him they’d get in the way of his IV. She’d brought him a hospital top that had cartoon cars on it instead. His mother had taught him to be polite, so he’d pretended to like it.

It felt like forever before he was out of the room and down the hallway towards the elevators. He saw his night nurse, Jean charting at the desk.

“Where you going, Steve?” she whispered as he paused to rest, holding the counter for support. Because of Steve’s condition he hadn’t grown as tall as the other kids his age, so his head barely cleared the nursing desk. Jean leaned over so he could see her. 

“To the ED,” Steve wheezed. “I want a chocolate bar.” 

Jean’s forehead creased. “That’s a long way. Can I get you something to eat from the kitchen? We have chocolate pudding.” 

He grimaced. Chocolate pudding. _Ew._ “No thanks. I want something from the vending machine.” 

“It’s late though, and you have surgery tomorrow. Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

As if he could forget he was going to have surgery. “I can’t sleep.” 

She must have seen some of his worry on his face because her expression softened. “Well go on then. You only have an hour and a half until you turn into a pumpkin.” 

That made Steve laugh, a husky puff of air. He could hardly wait until his surgery was done and he could breathe like a normal person. “I’ll be back by midnight. I promise.” 

“I’ll hold you to that, Cinderella. Otherwise I’ll have to send security looking for you.” Jean was smiling as she said it, but Steve could see the seriousness of her words. The nurses had let him move around as much as he’d felt able since he was admitted, but it didn’t stop them from worrying about his constant shortness-of-breath. If he wasn’t back by midnight not only would she send security, she’d probably also make one of those alerts that meant everyone in the hospital would be looking for him. That would be super-embarrassing. 

“I’ll be back by midnight.”

“Have fun.” She turned back to her charting, and Steve turned back towards the elevator. 

It took him nearly ten minutes to walk down the hallway to the elevator, and then another fifteen before he finally made it to the emergency department, but he still had at least 45 minutes before he had to head back up, so he was feeling pretty proud of himself anyway.

Steve loved the ED. Maybe it was because he’d been there so much in his short life, or maybe it was because it one of the busiest places in the hospital, but Steve loved it. Almost all his favourite nurses worked in the ED, and his favourite doctor did, too. His mother also worked in the ED whenever she wasn’t having to take care of him. But for whatever reason, coming to the ED felt a little bit like coming home. 

The vending machine was located between the ED treatment areas and the waiting area and Steve headed right there. Normally he would’ve taken the time to say hello to the staff, but he could see that the night was busy and he didn’t want to get in the way. 

With single-minded focus Steve headed to the vending machine, concern pushing him to walk as fast as he could go. The busy treatment area meant that the waiting room had also been busy, which might mean that there had been a lot of people buying food from the vending machine, which could mean they’d be out of his favourite and the entire trip would’ve been for nothing. That would really suck.

Steve sighed in relief when he reached the machine. It looked well-stocked and also like it was working, both of which were a bit of a miracle. There was a boy standing in front of it with short, thick brown hair staring down at a handful of coins. From the angle of his approach, Steve could see the boy’s look of concentration. He could also see the Timer on the boy’s wrist as the numbers rapidly counted down to zero. 

As if sensing his arrival, the boy turned and looked up at Steve. Their eyes met. The boy’s eyes were a unique silver-grey colour that Steve had never seen before, and he had just enough time to think. _Wow, his eyes are so pretty_ when the Timer on his wrist buzzed sharply and the numbers hit zero. 

The boy’s eyes widened with shock as his Timer did the same. “Holy shit.” 

“You’re my soulmate,” Steve said. 

The boy’s shocked expression morphed into one of pure delight. “I’m your soulmate!” And suddenly they were both standing in front of the vending machine, laughing.

* * *

It had taken them only seconds to exchange names, and now they were sitting on the hard plastic chairs of the ED waiting room, eating candy bars with their thighs pressed together from hip to knee. They were giddy with happiness.

James ‘Bucky’ Barnes was twelve years old. His family was visiting his aunt’s family in New York, but they were originally from New Jersey. 

“My dad’s in the army,” Bucky had explained. “He’s stationed at Camp Lehigh, but before that, he was from Brooklyn. He met my mom here.” 

 

Steve had hung on every word that fell from Bucky’s perfectly-shaped lips. In fact, he was pretty sure everything about Bucky was perfect. Bucky was handsome and smiled a lot. He was smart and funny and friendly and didn’t seem to care that Steve was small and skinny and sickly and wasn’t very handsome at all. 

Steve couldn’t remember a time when he’d felt so happy.

Bucky was the oldest of four. He had three sisters, and even though they were all different they got along really well. “I’m actually here because of my middle sister, Rachel,” Bucky told him. “She and my youngest sister, Ruth, were fooling around and Ruth pushed her off the couch. She split her chin open and Pop thought she’d need stitches. He left Rebecca and Ruth with my mom and took me with Rachel to the hospital. Rachel likes me best.” Bucky grinned. 

“Where are they now?” 

Bucky shrugged. “The nurse took Rachel through those doors.” He pointed towards the double doors that separated the treatment area from the waiting room. “She said that only Pop could go, so I had to wait.” His grin widened and he reached over, taking Steve’s hand in his. “Glad I did.” 

Steve gripped Bucky’s hand. “I hope your sister’ll be okay.” 

“She’ll be fine. She’s pretty tough. Besides having a scar on your chin is a Barnes tradition.” Bucky raised his head to show Steve the small scar that ran horizontally along Bucky’s jaw line. 

Steve laughed. “How’d you get that?”

“Fell off the couch. I guess that’s a Barnes tradition too.” Bucky grinned. 

Steve loved the way Bucky looked when he laughed; the way his silver-grey eyes lit up. It made him feel warm inside, like he was being hugged around his heart. 

His heart. He scowled and rubbed at his chest, sorry for the reminder. 

Bucky saw the change in his expression. “What’s wrong?”

“I have surgery tomorrow.” 

“I thought there had to be a reason you were in your pajamas,” Bucky tried to joke. His forehead creased. “What’s the surgery for?”

“My heart. I was born with something called an atrial septal defect. It’s a hole between the two sides of my heart so the blood doesn’t go where it’s meant to. I should’ve had surgery to fix it when I was little, but I kept getting sick, and then the doctors thought maybe it was getting better, but it wasn’t. It was actually getting worse. So, they have to fix it now.” 

Bucky’s expression didn’t change. “But you’re gonna be okay, right?”

Steve knew what he was really asking. _Are you going to die?_ “The surgery is pretty routine,” Steve said, repeating what both his mother and his doctor had told him. “They don’t even have to cut open my chest. They just go in through one of my arteries and close it up that way.” 

“Holy shit,” Bucky said. “Will it hurt?”

Steve shrugged. “Maybe a little? I think that they knock me out before.” 

“Wow.” Bucky bit his lip. “How am I gonna know you’re okay?”

“You can come visit!” Steve said, excited. “My surgery’s in the morning, but I should be good for visitors that afternoon. You could come see me! Meet my mom—”

Bucky looked upset. “We’re leaving for New Jersey tomorrow afternoon.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.” Bucky was now completely crestfallen. “I mean, we just met!” 

“I know. I could give you my number!”

“Yeah!” Bucky looked around. “I don’t have a pen.” 

“One of the nurses will lend us one,” Steve said confidently. “I’ll go ask.” He got up and started making his way towards the treatment area, his IV pole creaking along beside him. 

“Are you allowed back there?” 

“Sure,” Steve said over his shoulder. 

“Okay,” Bucky said. “I’ll wait here.” 

Steve flashed him a bright smile and made his way through the large doors into the treatment area. He went up to the first nurse he saw even though he didn’t know her. “Excuse me, could I borrow—”

The nurse turned to look at him, and she frowned. “Who are you?”

“Steve Rogers,” Steve replied obediently. “I just need a pen.” 

“Oh, thank God!” The nurse exclaimed. “Security’s been looking everywhere for you! You were meant to be back in your room half-an-hour ago.” 

Steve looked at the large digital clock on the far wall of the ED and winced. She was right, it was well after midnight. “I’m sorry? I got distracted. I met my soulmate!” 

She wasn’t listening. “We need to get you upstairs right away. Brock!” A burly security guard turned at her call and came over. “I’ve found our missing Mister Rogers. Can you please take him back upstairs to the pediatric surgical floor?”

“Sure thing, Maria,” Brock said. He grabbed Steve by his upper arm, not hard enough to hurt but certainly hard enough that Steve couldn’t break his grip. “C’mon kid, let's go.” 

“No!” Steve struggled against Brock. “My soulmate’s waiting for me! I need to—”

“You need to get upstairs,” Brock said, manhandling him towards the elevator. 

“But my soulmate!” Steve was struggling hard now. He could feel his heart kicking up in his chest; his breath coming in short gasps. “He won’t be able to find me. You need to let me go!”

“Nope. Not until you’re upstairs, kid. Orders are orders.” 

“Nooooo!” Steve wheezed. He dropped to the floor, hoping that it would make Brock have to let go.

It did, but only long enough for Brock to scoop him up in one of his arms. “Nice try,” he smirked. “But I’ve been working here a while. I know all the tricks.” 

Steve started to cry. “My soulmate,” he hiccupped. “Please.” 

“Aw, don’t cry,” Brock shook him gently. “You don’t have to be scared about your surgery tomorrow. The doctors here are some of the best.” He grabbed the IV pole with his other hand and started walking towards the elevators and away from the ED. Away from Bucky.

“No!” Steve kicked at Brock, managing to hit him in the arm that was holding the IV pole. Brock didn’t even falter, but his kindly expression turned hard. 

“Look, you little shit,” he hissed, shaking Steve hard enough that his teeth clicked together. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Don’t make me want to make it hard.” 

Steve gave up. But it wasn’t over. His mom was in his room. She’d go find Bucky for him. It’d be okay.

Brock deposited him in his bed a few minutes later, making enough noise that Steve’s mother woke up.

She sat up, immediately taking in Steve’s tears and the fact that he was being carried in by a security guard. “Steve! What’s wrong?”

“Nothing ma’am.” Brock grinned toothily at her. “Your boy just got a little lost downstairs.” He winked at Steve as if they were sharing a secret. 

“Thank you for bringing him back.” Steve’s mom smiled back at him. 

“All part of the service.” Brock gave Steve a mock salute. “Good luck tomorrow, kid.” Finally, he left.

“Mom,” Steve gasped before his mother could say anything else. “I met my soulmate!”

Her face broke into a wide smile. “Why, that’s wonderful!”

“Yes! But the security guard wouldn’t listen and he took me away…” It was hard, his heart was working really hard with the combination of his fear and his tears, but after what felt like an eternity he was able to tell his mother what happened. 

“I’ll go find him,” she said, understanding immediately. She was up and out the door in the next moment. 

Steve settled back on his pillows, feeling sick with worry. _It’ll be okay,_ he told himself. His mother would find Bucky. She could do anything. 

He was nearly asleep by the time she came back. The look on her face told him everything he needed to know. 

Bucky was gone.

* * *

“I have to go back and find my soulmate!” Bucky pulled against his father’s hand where George was gripping his right wrist as tightly as only an infantry officer could. His father’s thick fingers covered Bucky’s zeroes, hiding the numbers completely.

“I’m sorry Bucky,” George said, not relinquishing his grip and not sounding very sorry at all. “But Rachel’s in pain and we need to get her home. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us tomorrow.” He shifted the little girl he was holding in his free arm. Her tear-streaked face resting against his shoulder. The stitches looked dark against her pale skin. 

“But he’s my soulmate!” Bucky said desperately. “And he left before I could get his phone number. How am I going to find him?”

“Cut it out!” George turned and snarled at him as he hustled them across the hospital parking lot towards their car. It was the half-dark outside that you only saw in cities: the hundreds of lights keeping full night only at the edges, and making only the brightest of stars visible. “I said we’re going home, and that’s final!”

Bucky’s mind was whirling. George wasn’t the best dad most days, but sometimes, when he got into one of his moods, things got way worse, especially for Bucky. Everyone who knew George knew that he doted on his little girls but wasn’t so keen on his only son. The stress of Rachel bleeding all over the place meant that George’s mood was already bad to begin with. Bucky asking for anything right now wasn’t going to go well. There was no way he was going to win this one. 

But it was his soulmate…

Bucky dug in his heels, forcing his father’s arm to jerk backwards. “I need to go back! The drive home’s less than three hours! We don’t need to leave—”

George’s expression darkened. “Are you talking back to me?”

Bucky swallowed down the lump of fear that had formed in his throat. He’d been on the receiving end of that look before, and nothing good ever came of it. But if he left now, he might never find Steve again. Steve was his soulmate, and even though he’d only known him for a just over an hour, he already knew he’d do anything for him. 

Even try to face down George Barnes. 

He raised his chin. “I need to go back,” he said. His voice only wavered a little.

George let go of his wrist, just long enough to backhand him across the face. Bucky reared back, barely able to keep his footing and cried out with the shock and pain. Rachel whimpered and buried her face against her father’s shoulder. 

George’s eyes were like ice where his gaze pinned Bucky. “Got anything else to say?”

Bucky shook his head, willing himself not to cry. His jaw throbbed and he knew he’d bruise. He also knew his mother would see it tomorrow and just look at it with her sorrowful expression. She’d give him a cold pack and tell him not to make his father angry. 

Sometimes Bucky really hated his family. 

But Steve wasn’t like that. Bucky barely knew him, but he could already tell that Steve was gentle and kind and would never hit him. He also knew that after his surgery Steve would have to be in hospital for at least a couple of days. And Bucky was already in Brooklyn. All he had to do was leave his aunt’s house and make his way back to the hospital. His dad had driven them there, but Bucky knew the subway system in New York was pretty good. He was sure he could find his way back to the hospital on his own. 

Steve would be so happy to see him, Bucky decided as he climbed into the car. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the window, feeling the cool of the glass against his skin. He rubbed the numbers on his wrist by rote, feeling the faint warmth beneath his fingertips and smiled. It didn’t matter if his dad hit him, or that his mom didn’t care. He’d run away and find his soulmate and they’d be together forever. 

Everything would be okay.

* * *

Bucky woke with a start the next morning. 

He lay on the cot in his cousin’s room, listening to Clint’s even breathing as the other boy slept. Bucky sat up slowly, trying to figure out what had woken him. The alarm clock Clint had on his night table showed that it was barely eight a.m., and the house was still quiet, the adults probably sleeping in after the late night they’d all had with Rachel’s injury.

That thought reminded Bucky about being in the hospital and he broke into a wide grin, only wincing slightly as the bruise on his jaw pulled from where his father had hit him the night before. He rubbed at the spot, still smiling. Today was the day he was going back to the hospital to find Steve Rogers. After today he’d be with his soulmate, where he’d be loved and safe forever. He’d never have to deal with his shitty father again. 

But it was already later than he’d meant to get up. He didn’t have a lot of time to pack his things before the rest of his family was awake. He knew his father would want to leave right after breakfast. He didn’t really like his wife’s family and wouldn’t spend a moment longer in their house than he had to. Bucky had no time to waste. 

He slipped out of bed and quietly made his way to the bathroom. He finished his business then washed his hands and brushed his teeth, being careful to grab his toothbrush to pack before he left. He glanced down at the numbers on his right wrist before he left the bathroom, smiling in anticipation of the joy in seeing the string of zeroes dimly lit against his skin. 

The smile fell from his face. 

Instead of a line of zeroes, there were eleven new numbers on his wrist, counting down the weeks, days, hours, minutes and seconds to a time that looked like it was years in the future, when he was meant to meet his soulmate. 

Bucky sat down heavily on the tile floor, head swimming. He knew he’d met Steve the night before. He remembered the sweet boy with huge blue eyes and hair the colour of wheat stalks in the sunshine. He remembered his smile and the kindness in his expression, and the way their hands felt as they’d linked them together. He remembered how joy had wrapped itself around his heart, warming him up from the inside and making him feel complete. Whole, for the first time in his life. He remembered vowing to himself that he would love Steve Rogers to the moon and back, and that he’d do anything to keep him happy. He remembered that last night he’d met his soulmate and that it was the best moment of his entire life. _He remembered._

For some reason his Timer had reset. It was counting down to a new soulmate like meeting Steve had never happened. Like Steve hadn’t existed at all. 

Then the realization hit Bucky so hard in the chest that he thought his heart stopped. It was the worst pain he’d ever felt. Worse than any of the beatings his father had given him. He clutched his chest, feeling like his soul was ripping away from his body. 

He’d met Steve in hospital, because Steve was waiting to have surgery on his heart. Surgery he was meant to have first thing this morning. 

Surgery that he clearly hadn’t survived. 

Steve was dead. 

Bucky’s Timer had reset because Steve had died and the Universe had just slid another soulmate into Steve’s place. Like it didn’t care that Bucky had given his entire heart and soul to Steve the moment they’d met. Like the Universe had always known that Steve was going to die. Like it had a back-up plan for Bucky all along.

“No,” Bucky breathed, and then he shouted “No!” as tears streamed down his face. He clawed at the numbers on his skin, but his nails weren’t destructive enough, so he grabbed his father’s razor off the edge of the sink and attacked his arm. He cut deeply into the skin over the numbers and watched with grim satisfaction as the blood welled up, obscuring them from view. 

“Bucky?” his mother said as she opened the door he’d forgotten to lock. “What’s—Oh my God!” Winnifred wrenched the razor out of his hand and threw it into the bathtub, pressing her fingers to the bleeding wound. “What are you doing?”

“My Timer reset,” Bucky sobbed. “My Timer reset!”

“Your Timer reset?” Winnifred repeated. “Bucky, what?”

“He’s dead. My soulmate’s dead and my Timer reset like that doesn’t even matter.” 

“Oh my God,” Winnifred gasped. “You met your soulmate and he _died?_?”

Bucky could only nod in response. He was crying too hard to speak. 

The door banged open. 

“What the fuck is going on in here?” George bellowed. “Don’t you know I’m trying to sleep?”

Winifred immediately moved back from Bucky, reflexively wiping her wet fingers on her nightgown, leaving a streak of blood. “I’m sorry,” she stammered. “Bucky was yelling—”

“I heard him.” George glared at him, his sharp gaze taking in Bucky huddled on the floor, blood dripping from his wrist. “So, you finally lost your mind,” he said with a disappointed shake of his head. He sneered. “Don’t you know that suicide is more effective when you cut down, not across? You can’t even do that properly.” 

Bucky got to his feet. Normally his father’s insults would cut him as harshly as any blade, but this time he just felt numb. Steve was dead. He’d lost his soulmate. Nothing else mattered. “Let me have a knife,” Bucky said. “I’ll try it again.” 

George slapped him. Hard enough to send him sprawling. He landed against the side of the tub with enough force to knock the wind out of him. He lay on the floor, wheezing against the cold tile, eyes squeezed shut. 

He wished he were dead. 

“George!” A woman’s voice hollered. “What the _hell_ are you doing?” 

It was Edith, his aunt. She scooped him up into her arms the way she usually did when he was sad or hurt. She’d always made him feel safer than he’d ever felt with his mother.

“Boy’s gone crazy,” George said sullenly. “You know how rotten he is.” 

“I know no such thing,” Edith spat. “You treat James like shit, and you know it!”

“I only treat him like he needs!” George shouted. “If you don’t use a strong hand—”

“Bullshit!” Edith stood, gently helping Bucky to his feet with her. He looked down at his wrist, where the numbers were still steadily counting down, still visible under the smear of blood.  
“James has spent his whole life just trying to make you happy!”

“He’s a menace!” George shouted. “He’s a stupid, lazy waste of skin and it was only a matter of time until he pulled some stunt like this!”

“You’ve always treated James like shit! You treat your girls like princesses, but him?” Edith turned to Winnifred. “And you! You’ve never done anything to help. I swear, if you weren’t my sister, I would’ve called the cops on the both of you years ago!”

“Fine!” George roared. “You like him so much? You keep him!” 

“You bet your ass I will! And you get the fuck out of my house!” She visibly took a breath. “Winnifred, I wish you’d stay too. You and the girls. You deserve better.” 

“George is my soulmate,” Winnifred protested weakly. “My loyalty is to him.” 

“And maybe if you’d learned that, Harold wouldn’t have walked out!” George yelled at Edith. “Fucking bitch like you, no wonder he left!”

“I’d rather live alone for the rest of my life than be stuck with a monster like you!”

They kept yelling like that until his father finally stormed out, Winnifred trailing behind him. 

“Come on,” Edith said, giving Bucky's shoulders a squeeze. “Let’s get you cleaned up, huh? And then we can wake up Clint. I can’t believe he slept through all that. I swear Clint could sleep through a nuclear bomb.” She laughed, a dry sound that had no mirth in it. “Once he’s up, I’ll take you out for breakfast.” _So your family will be gone by the time we come back_ was left unsaid.

He could hear his dad’s loud voice further down the hallway, shouting at Winnifred as they were packing. He could hear his younger sisters crying as Rebecca tried to shush them. He knew they’d all be leaving to go back to New Jersey as soon as possible. Apparently, he’d be staying in New York with his aunt and cousin. Dimly he wondered if he’d ever see his sisters again.

He wasn’t sure he cared. He stared down at the mess of his wrist. 

Steve was dead. What else could ever possibly matter?

* * *

Steve woke.

“Mom.” Steve’s voice was hoarse. He smiled up at his mother. She beamed at him and moved the head of the bed to help him sit up. He took a few sips of water through the straw she offered him. The water was fresh and cold and felt amazing against his dry throat.

“My baby.” Sarah stroked his face, and Steve's smile slipped. His mother looked exhausted: wan and pale and like she hadn’t slept in days. Her eyes were bloodshot and purple-rimmed, like she’d been crying. 

“Mom?” Steve lifted his hand to take hers, surprised at how heavy his limb suddenly felt. Like he’d been running a marathon.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” She said too quickly, and suddenly Steve felt a jolt of fear.

“Mom?” he said again. “What happened? Why were you crying?”

“The surgery was successful,” Sarah said as if that had been what Steve asked. “They were able to repair your heart, and it’s fine now. Everything’s going to be fine.” 

“Mom!” Exasperation wove its way through Steve's fear. He could always tell when his mother was trying to hide something from him. He’d known when his heart defect had gotten worse and she hadn’t wanted to tell him, and he knew it now. “What’s going on?”

Her face crumpled. “The operation didn’t go well. But everything’s fixed now, so don’t worry. I don’t want you to worry.”

“That kind of sounds like I should worry.” 

“It’s fixed,” Sarah repeated. “But there was a mistake. During the procedure…” She stopped talking and wiped at her eyes. The metal band she wore around her Timer flashed in the dim light of the room.

Steve blinked, his hand automatically going to his chest. Now that he thought about it, it was feeling pretty sore. Much sorer than the doctors had said it’d be after the transcatheter repair. He could feel a layer of bandages under his hand. “I thought they weren’t going to cut open my chest.”

“Me too, baby. But they made a mistake with the catheter. While they were trying to fix the original hole in your heart, they accidentally made another one.” 

Steve's newly-repaired heart kicked in his chest. “They made another hole?”

His mother nodded. “They punctured the wall on the left side of your heart.”

“Oh.” Steve rubbed his chest before looking up at his mother again. “But they were able to fix it?”

“Yes. Yes, they were able to fix it. But not before you bled a lot. They had to cut open your chest to fix the hole.” Her voice shook. “You bled so much that your heart stopped.”

“My heart stopped?” Steve repeated stupidly. “Like, I died?”

Sarah nodded helplessly, but then she smiled through her tears. “But you didn’t die! They were able to stop the bleeding and get your heart going again, and you’re going to be right as rain before you know it!” 

“How long did my heart stop?” Steve asked. He could feel it beating in his chest, solid and strong. It was hard to imagine it had ever been that still and silent. It was hard to believe he’d almost died.

“Less than four minutes,” she said confidently. 

“Wow,” Steve murmured. He swallowed, feeling how dry his throat was even after the water his mother had given him. He looked around the room and realized that it wasn’t the room he’d been in before he’d gone for surgery. He also wasn’t wearing his Iron Man pajama bottoms anymore. He looked back at his mother. “How long have I been here?”

“Four days.”

“Wow,” Steve muttered again. Then his eyes widened. “Bucky! Did you find Bucky?”

“Oh, honey, I never even thought about looking for him.” 

“Did he call? Or leave a note?”

Sarah shook her head. “I’m sorry, baby. But maybe, once your better, we can look for him then?” 

“Okay,” Steve said. It didn’t feel okay. He’d been asleep for _four days._ What if Bucky had been waiting for him all that time? He looked down at his wrist, immediately reassured by the line of zeroes, glowing faintly beneath his skin. 

“As soon as you’re discharged home we can look for him,” Sarah said soothingly. “I’m sure he’ll be very happy to hear from you.” 

“Okay,” Steve said again. He lay back on his pillows, suddenly tired. “Do you think Bucky called the hospital but his message got lost? Like, because I moved rooms?”

“Maybe. I can check with the switchboard.”

“Please,” Steve mumbled. It was hard for him to keep his eyes open. 

“Go sleep,” Sarah whispered. She stroked his cheek. Steve closed his eyes. 

“We’ll look for Bucky as soon as I go home,” Steve said. 

“I promise,” Sarah said.

“Good.” Steve fell asleep.

* * *

Steve eased himself onto the couch in the apartment he shared with his mother. 

He’d been home for less than a day, and his chest was still really sore. Sarah wanted him to sit in front of the TV and rest, but Steve wasn’t going to do that. He _couldn’t._ Not until he found Bucky.

Even though Bucky hadn’t tried to contact him even once while he’d been in hospital. Steve didn’t know how to think about that. He switched from feeling angry that Bucky hadn’t tried, to hurt that maybe Bucky didn’t care about him as much as Steve cared about Bucky, to totally terrified that something had happened to his soulmate. All he knew is that he needed to find him.

“Mom, please! I promise I’ll go lie down. I _swear._ Just let me find Bucky first, please?”

Sarah was already walking over with the ancient laptop she’d bought second-hand at least five years before. “Alright, alright.” She smiled fondly at him. “You’re just as stubborn as your father.” 

Steve grinned back. His mother and father had been soulmates, and as madly in love as soulmates were meant to be. Even though Joseph had died before Steve was born, Sarah’s Timer had never reset, which seemed to be just the way she wanted it. She was almost proud about the metal band she wore around her wrist that told anyone who looked that she’d lost her soulmate. Steve had never met his dad, but he knew a lot about him from the way Sarah talked. It made him feel good to know he was like him.

She settled beside him on the couch and pulled up a search engine. “You said his name is James Barnes and he lives in New Jersey?”

Steve nodded. “And he’s twelve.” 

Sarah typed in Bucky’s name. She frowned. “There’s nothing here for a ‘James Barnes’ who's twelve and lives in New Jersey. Did he tell you the name of his parents?”

It was Steve’s turn to frown. He thought back to the conversation he’d had with Bucky over a week ago. He could remember everything about how the other boy looked: his warm smile, his bright blue eyes and the way his dark hair fell across his forehead. But he couldn’t remember the details of their conversation. Had Bucky told him the name of his parents? He didn’t know. 

“The sister who got stitches’ name is Rachel.” 

“That’s a good detail, but unfortunately that won’t help us find him.”

Steve bit his lip. “Could we call the hospital? Maybe they could—”

Sarah shook her head. “We could maybe ask someone in the Emerg to pass on a message for us, but there’s very strict rules about when people can access patients’ charts. I can ask one of my friends who works there, though. They might do that for us.” She pulled out her phone, a super-early iPhone she also got second-hand. “I’ll text Moera now.” 

Steve waited for his mom to get a response, heart thumping wildly in his chest. 

Sarah smiled, and Steve felt an instant flood of relief that had him sagging back against the couch cushions. “She says ‘congratulations,’ and that she’s on break now and she’ll call right away.”

“Thank God,” Steve breathed, and then shot his mom a look of concern, but she ignored his blasphemy. She’d been a lot easier on him since he’d nearly died during surgery. Steve figured that it wouldn’t last that long, and once he was totally better she’d be all over him to clean up his room and put his things away, and watch what he said like before. But right now he didn’t mind getting off easy. 

They sat in uneasy silence for several minutes as they waited for Moera to text them. Sarah rubbed Steve’s back but didn’t say anything, both focused on the phone. 

The phone made a _pinging_ sound as Moera texted back. Sarah read it quickly before passing it to Steve. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. 

Steve took the phone, heart plummeting from his mother’s sad expression. **A young woman answered the phone,** Moera wrote. **She said that Bucky didn’t live there. She hung up before I could ask her anything else. Sorry I couldn’t be of more help.**

Steve looked at Sarah, his eyes starting to burn. “He’s not there?”

“I don’t know what to say.” Sarah looked as crestfallen as Steve felt. “Do you want to write a letter? Maybe they can send it to him?”

“Yeah, okay,” Steve said. He wiped at his eyes. It felt like everything good in his world had just come to a crashing end like a plane falling out of the sky. Bucky wasn’t there. It had only been a week since Steve had met Bucky, but in that short time Bucky had disappeared. He’d never tried to contact Steve in the hospital. Steve couldn’t even begin to understand what had gone so horribly wrong, but right that second it looked like he was never going to see his soulmate again. “Can I go lie down now?” 

“Of course.” Sarah helped him to his feet and walked with him to his small bedroom, taking great care to tuck him in like he was a much younger child. “He’s still alive,” Sarah said quietly as she drew the covers up to Steve’s shoulders. “Your numbers are still zero. They haven’t gone blank or reset. He’s still alive, and where there’s life, there’s hope.” 

Steve lifted his arm to look at his numbers. They were still a row of zeros, just like his mother had said. Bucky was alive. No matter what had happened, at least he was still alive. It was something to hold on to. 

“You’ll find him again,” Sarah said. “I promise.” 

Steve nodded and gave her a brave smile. “I’ll find him again,” he repeated. He had to believe it.

* * *

“I thought you said your soulmate was dead.” 

Bucky looked up sharply to meet the eyes of the military doctor who’d just come back into the room. He’d recently been moved from the waiting area of the Brooklyn Military Entrance Processing Station into the assessment room for the second-to-last phase of his military admission process. Apparently, this section consisted of him walking in a straight line and waving his arms around a lot so the doctors could look at the way his joints worked. Somehow, this required removing all his clothes except his underwear. Bucky had taken off everything but his skivvies as instructed, including the leather wrist band he wore to cover up his Timer.

His Timer that was still counting down, which meant that he might actually have a soulmate somewhere out there. Which meant that checking the ‘soulmate is dead’ box on the intake form might’ve kind of been a lie. 

Bucky cleared his throat. “Uh.” 

The doctor smiled, crinkling the corner of his eyes. He had scraggly, thinning grey hair and a beard. His name tag read ‘Erskine,’ and his expression seemed kind. “Maybe you checked the wrong box, yes? Going through this process can be stressful. It’s easy to make small mistakes.” 

Dr. Erskine was giving him an obvious out. All Bucky would have to do was agree and he could carry on with the evaluation process. His recruiter had been very clear that any differences between what he said and what was on his form would result in a lot of problems and would probably mean he didn’t get accepted. The military didn’t really go for liars. 

But Bucky hadn’t lied. He thought of Steve, and his soft blue eyes. He thought of his sense of humour and his sparkling intelligence; his illness and the brave way he’d faced down his surgery, even though it would ultimately mean his death. It had been a full six years since Bucky had met Steve and then lost him. Six years since his Timer had reset, shattering his heart in the process. His soulmate _was_ dead. He wasn’t going to erase Steve’s existence just to make the US Army happy. 

“I didn’t make a mistake.” Bucky’s voice was rough as he said it, his heart pounding. He knew insisting his soulmate was dead when his Timer was so obviously ticking down meant that he’d probably be thought of as a liar, and totally unfit for military service. The career he and Clint had decide on the year they’d both turned thirteen would suddenly be unavailable to him. Clint would have to attend Bootcamp alone, knowing that Bucky had chosen his dead soulmate’s memory over their dreams. He winced, hoping his cousin would understand. 

Dr. Erskine was still studying him. “I’m sure you know your Timer is still active?”

Bucky thinned his mouth. “Yep.” 

“But it’s not counting down to your soulmate?”

“My soulmate died, and then my Timer reset.” It’d been six years, but the pain was still as fresh as the morning he’d found out Steve was gone. “I’m not interested in who it’s counting down for.” 

“Ah,” Erskine said, and made a note on Bucky’s chart. He eyed Bucky over his wire-rim glasses. “It would be easier just to say you haven’t met your soulmate. Rather than having to explain the difference between your forms and your wrist.” 

“My soulmate deserves better than that.”

The doctor tilted his head and made another note on Bucky’s chart. “You seem very loyal, Mr. Barnes. And honest, too.” 

Bucky immediately thought of Steve. Steve was only eleven when he died, but Integrity had shone from him like a beacon. Bucky had known him for far too short a time, but he’d never forget how incredible his soulmate had been. He strove to be as good—as _fine_ —a person every day as Steve had been. He’d never stop trying to be the type of person his soulmate would have deserved. He attempted a smile. “My soulmate would’ve wanted that from me.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.” The empathy in Erskine’s expression had Bucky blinking back a sudden rush of tears. It was like the doctor really understood. He nodded, too choked up to speak.

“I’ve made a note in your chart to explain the discrepancy,” Erskine said, tactfully ignoring Bucky’s wet eyes. “I can’t promise no one else will ask, but it will not be counted against you.” 

“Thank you,” Bucky said, relieved. It was nice to know that being true to Steve’s memory didn't mean he was letting Clint down. 

“You are welcome,” the doctor said. “Now please stand. I hope your joints are as strong as your moral convictions!” 

Bucky chuckled as he stood, glad Dr. Erskine had managed to lighten his mood with that small joke. 

He started circling his arms at the shoulders the way Erskine instructed, his Timer flashing in the corner of his eye. He grimaced. It insulted Steve’s memory with every second it counted down. He hated it with a passion.

He still missed Steve, he always would, but at least joining the military meant he might be able to do some good in the world. Like Steve would’ve wanted. 

He’d just continue to ignore his Timer like he’d always done. He could hardly wait until he could put his bracelet back on again and forget his Timer even existed.

* * *

“Wow. That’s beautiful.” 

Steve immediately closed his sketchbook and sat up straighter, wiping his eyes as he did so. “Oh hey, Natasha,” he said, forcing as much cheer into his voice as possible. “I didn’t realize I’d gotten here before you.” 

“Clearly, I’m a good influence,” she said as she slid into the chair beside him. They were sitting in one of the largest lecture hall at _Maria Stark Memorial University,_ waiting for the third year psychology course to start. Steve was in nursing, and was taking psychology as an elective, while Natasha hoped to be a clinical psychologist one day. They’d met during the first week of classes when they’d ended up in the same tutorial. Natasha was serious and quiet with a wry sense of humour that Steve appreciated. She was also whip-smart and understood everything the tutor was talking about without ever having to crack her textbook. That worked for Steve, who was very busy with his clinical courses and certainly didn’t mind having a friend who was acing the class. 

Natasha opened her bag and pulled out her pad and pens instead of a laptop. She was old school like that, which was another thing she and Steve shared in common. She was working hard to pretend that she hadn’t noticed him practically sobbing over the portrait he’d been drawing, which he also appreciated. He hadn’t really meant to start drawing while he was waiting for class to start, but once he got the idea in his head he found he couldn’t let it go. He just wished Natasha wasn’t quite so perceptive. Especially as the tears in his eyes weren’t exactly subtle. 

“Is he your soulmate?” She finally asked. 

Steve thought about denying it, but then he sighed and passed over his sketchbook. There wasn’t any reason for her not to know, after all. No reason to try to hide his pain.

She looked up from where she’d been studying his drawing, her eyes tender with compassion. “He was a very handsome man.” 

Steve’s cheeks heated. “It’s hard. To draw him from memory, I mean. Especially when I’m trying to draw him the age that he’d be now.”

Natasha handed back the sketchbook, her gaze still sad. “It must have been hard when he died.” 

“He’s not dead,” Steve said quickly. “I just…haven’t seen him in a while.” 

“Oh,” Natasha said. “Oh. Sorry about that. I just thought he’d died because—”

Steve held up his wrist, still mostly hidden by the wide leather bracelet he wore. “Because I wear this all the time?” At her nod, he continued. “I just started wearing it when all the questions got to be too much, you know?” 

“It’s unusual to cover your Timer when your soulmate’s still alive,” Natasha said. “But if you guys broke up, I get why you wouldn’t want people to constantly ask you about it.” 

“We didn’t break up,” Steve sighed. It hurt for people to think that, but it hurt worse to have to explain that his soulmate had disappeared when he was a child. He still couldn’t figure out why Bucky had never tried to find him. He’d probably go to his grave trying to understand why. “We met and then he disappeared. I tried to look for him, but no luck. 

“God, that would suck,” Natasha said with sympathy. “It was hard enough when Clint was deployed overseas less than a week after we’d met. I can’t imagine how bad it’d be if I never got to see him again.” Her face fell as she said it, probably filled with images of her soulmate dying on some far-off battlefield in Afghanistan, Iraq or Syria. 

“He’ll come back,” Steve said with conviction. “There’s no way he’d die on a soulmate as awesome as you.” 

Natasha laughed. “I don’t know if it’s that simple, but I appreciate the thought.” She nudged Steve with her shoulder. She looked down at Steve's sketchbook, still open to the picture of Bucky as Steve imagined he’d look as a man of twenty-two.

“I haven’t seen him in ten years,” Steve said 

“You guys were young when you met.” 

Steve nodded. “I was eleven and he was twelve. That’s what I was trying to draw. How he might look as an adult.” 

“The picture you drew looks a bit like my soulmate’s cousin, James.” Natasha took the open sketchbook off of Steve’s side desk and studied it. “I mean, I’ve only met him once so far, and it was over Skype. But the shape of his eyes are the same.”

“Are you serious?” Steve sat up straighter. “ _My_ soulmate’s name was James!”

“Clint said his cousin met his soulmate when he was young, too—“ 

Steve's heart started pounding. “How old was he—”

“—But his soulmate died the next day,” Natasha continued, crushing Steve’s hopes with that one sentence. “Clint said he’s worn a bracelet ever since. Isn’t that sad?”

“That’s terrible,” Steve said. He felt like he’d just been on a really fast rollercoaster, only to have it suddenly stop short. “Really awful.” 

“He’s overseas with Clint now. They joined up together.” Natasha’s smile was small. “Clint promised me they’d look out for each other.” 

“Sounds like they’re really close,” Steve said. He was still reeling from the way his hopes had been raised and then dashed in the same moment. 

“Like brothers,” Natasha agreed. She hugged herself. “God! I hope Clint comes home okay!” 

“Me too,” Steve said. He didn’t know Clint at all, and he barely knew Natasha, but he couldn’t stand the thought of any more soulmate pairs being torn apart. His heart went out to Clint’s cousin, James, and the terrible pain he must have been living with for so many years. 

“Hey.” Natasha nudged his shoulder again and passed him back his sketchbook. “At least your soulmate’s alive, right? Where there’s life, there’s hope.” 

It was the same thing his mother had said to him so many years ago. Steve thought of Clint's James, whose soulmate was dead and now had to spend the rest of his life alone. He rubbed the leather band around his wrist, picturing the zeroes beneath. His mother had been right then, and Natasha was right, now. As long as Bucky was alive, there was hope. 

“Lecture’s about to start,” Natasha whispered.

“Right,” Steve said. He ran his hand down the picture of Bucky, hoping he knew how much Steve loved him. How he always would. He slid the book back into his backpack and got out his notepad. “Where there’s life, there’s hope,” he whispered to himself. He smiled.

* * *

Bucky rolled onto his side, slowly, like his brain and his body weren’t connected. 

He felt wrong, which wasn’t something he wanted to explore too fully at the moment. Not when his ears were ringing and he was blinking spots out of his eyes. Not when his mouth was coated in a disgusting mixture of blood and sand. 

He couldn’t understand why he was lying down. He’d been standing, he thought. Going door-to-door trying to track down the insurgents who’d killed their informant the day before. The village was meant to be mostly neutral, so although they’d been ready for an attack, it hadn’t seemed likely. 

Had they been attacked? Bucky’s heart sped up. He and Clint had been in the lead of their squad, and now he couldn’t see Clint at all. Where was his cousin?

“Barton!” he shouted. “ _Barton!_ ” He could barely hear his own voice.

Clint was suddenly in front of him. There between one blink and the next. Bucky sagged in relief. 

He might’ve closed his eyes for a moment, because they snapped open with Clint’s shaking him. Clint looked frantic, his green eyes wide with fear. He was reaching for Bucky’s left side and screaming something that Bucky couldn’t hear. 

If Clint’s expression meant anything, what he was screaming might’ve been important. “I can’t hear you,” Bucky said in what he hoped was a reasonable voice. He couldn’t tell. He still couldn’t hear himself, either. 

“There was a bomb!” Clint was still screaming. “It blew off your fucking arm!”

Bucky looked down at his right arm. It was still there, wrapped in U.S. army issue desert camo. The brown leather of his wristband covering his Timer was just visible under the edge of his sleeve. He frowned at his cousin. “What?”

“Your _left_ arm!” Clint shouted. He was doing something with Bucky’s left arm that required making something above his elbow very, very tight. Tight enough to hurt, actually. Bucky tried to jerk his arm away.

Clint wouldn’t let him. “I have to do this Bucky! You’re bleeding out!”

 _Bleeding out?_ That sounded bad. Like, really bad. Bucky looked over to his left side. He immediately regretted it. 

His left arm was a tattered mess of torn muscle and bone from just below the elbow down. Blood was streaming from the wound, staining the tatters of sleeve still left and coating his uniform in thick red. The cloth was soaked from his waist to his knee with more blood pooling into the sand, turning the ground to reddish mud. 

It was like his brain was waiting for his eyes to catch up. As soon as he looked at his injury his entire body exploded with pain. It was everywhere. Not just his arm, but also his side. Like someone had stuck a very large fork in him and _twisted._ There wasn’t any part of him that wasn’t in howling agony. He tried to pull away from Clint, snarling like an animal.

Clint didn’t let go. “I know, buddy,” he said at high volume so his voice would penetrate the fog in Bucky’s ears. “It hurts like a bitch, I know. But you gotta let me do this. _Please!_ ”

Bucky whimpered, but held his arm still, not wanting to hear his cousin beg him again. His heels scraped into the hard sand of the dirt road, his body’s vain attempt to run from the pain. He was sweating, shaking from somewhere deep inside. His heart was pounding so hard it was like a thunderstorm in his ears. The only thing he could hear. 

“Oh no,” Clint breathed, and Bucky understood Clint’s despair more from his expression than from his near-silent words. “You’ve been hit real bad, Buck. Not just your arm. Your side, too”

“Bad?” He knew it was bad. He could feel it.

“Real bad. Shit. We got to get you out of here.” Suddenly, Clint ducked. A bullet whizzed by his head and impacted into the hard sand of the road. 

“Are they shooting at us?” Bucky tried to sit up, to see if Clint’s attempt to save him had put him in the line of fire. He could barely move. 

“It’s fine. We’re fine,” Clint said way too quickly, holding him down. “Dum Dum’s got us covered.”

Another bullet whizzed by, and then another. 

“They’re shooting at us!” Bucky yelled. He had an immediate image of Clint lying in the dirt, eyes open and far too still. Raw fear gripped his throat, more terrifying than the pain of his wounds or the feeling of his blood trickling out of his body. “Get the fuck out of here!” 

“No!” Clint yelled back. “Not without you!”

“No!” Bucky shouted, grabbing the collar of Clint’s tac vest with his right hand. Moving hurt so badly his vision went grey and he had to let go. _Don’t pass out, Do not pass out!_ he commanded himself. He had to get Clint to safety. “Leave me here. Go.” He wanted to be more forceful, but even speaking fucking hurt. 

“I’m not leaving you!”

“I promised your soulmate,” Bucky said, gasping for air between each word. He remembered the beautiful redhead Clint had introduced him to over Skype after they’d had to ship back out. How fearful she’d looked knowing her One was being sent into a warzone. He’d have promised her anything to get that look of fear out of her eyes. He’d do anything to make sure it never changed to the despair he’d felt when Steve died.

Clint’s expression went through a complex series of emotions before settling on the hard-lined stubbornness Bucky knew far too well. “I’m not leaving you,” he repeated. 

Bucky's shaking was worse, cold sweat coating his skin.His vision was getting spotty at the edges, foggy and grey. _Shock,_ he thought. His remaining blood was being sent to his internal organs in his body’s last attempt to keep him alive. But too much was pouring out of him. He could barely feel his body anymore. Everything was cold. He was bleeding out. Clint wouldn’t be able to save him. 

Bucky opened his mouth to tell Clint to _Just fucking leave already!_ but he was too late. A bullet slammed into Clint’s back, sending him sprawling over Bucky’s supine form, unmoving. 

Bucky screamed. Clint was dead. He was _dead._ His cousin who he loved like a brother had just died trying to save him. 

It was a relief to give up at that point, knowing that he wouldn’t have to live in a world with no Clint. Clumsily he threw his right arm over Clint’s body in a final embrace. The movement pulled back his sleeve, exposing the leather bracelet that covered his Timer, still counting down. 

It would stop as soon as he died. 

_Steve,_ he thought, strangely pleased that his last moments would be remembering the boy with the bright blue eyes and hair like wheat in summer. He didn’t know if he believed in an afterlife, but he hoped Steve would be wherever he was going. 

His eyes slid shut.

* * *

Natasha hadn’t shown up for psychology class.

Steve bit his lip as he doodled on the edge of his notes. It was a miniature portrait of Natasha: her head tilted to the side and her lips curled up in a secretive smile.

Natasha was always at least ten minutes early to class and she’d come to class even when she’d had a temperature in the middle of a snowstorm. It was completely unlike her to not be there.

The professor had been talking for almost fifteen minutes, but Steve had stopped listening as soon as he’d realized that Natasha really wasn’t coming. He turned the leather cuff on his wrist, biting his lip harder. The skin under his bracelet had been feeling strange since that morning, itchy and irritated. 

_He_ was feeling itchy and irritated. He had been since he’d woken up that morning. Like something awful was going to happen. Like maybe something already had.

He puffed out a gust of air. He felt antsy and uncomfortable, like there was too much energy in his body. Sitting in class was becoming untenable. As quietly as possible, he packed up his notes, grabbed his backpack and slid out of the lecture hall into the quiet hallway of the building and then out into the courtyard.

It was a beautiful, bright fall day. The sky was a clear, light blue and the temperature was mild enough that Steve didn’t even have to zip up his jacket. He paced over to the wooden bench on the edge of the pathway that faced the trees and greenery of the landscape, but he couldn’t sit.

It had been years since he’d been the small, skinny, sickly boy where every breath had been a fight. But right that second, it felt like his large, fit body had somehow forgotten how to breathe. Something bad had happened. He could feel it. 

He dropped his bag on the bench and pulled out his phone. **Natasha,** he texted. **You missed class. Everything ok?**

He thought about calling his mother, but she was at work. If something bad had happened, her work would probably call him anyway. He sent her a text regardless, just a quick **I love you!** that would make her smile but hopefully not worry too much. 

He didn’t feel any better. He sat down and put his phone in the outside pocked of his backpack. Then he stood up and paced for a few feet before returning to sit down again. The feeling of being wound up, edgy and tight hadn’t faded. 

He texted Sam, his best friend from high school, who immediately sent back a poop emoji. It made Steve smile, but the edginess was still there. 

Sam texted him: **What’s up?** and then: **Aren’t you meant to be in class?**

That made Steve’s smile widen. Trust Sam to remember the details. 

He thought about texting Sam back, but he didn’t know what to say. Sorry to bug you, but I’m feeling weird in my own skin? or Nothing, just a vague sense the world is ending? He shook his head and just sent back a kissy face emoji. It would make Sam laugh.

Steve still didn’t feel better. He rubbed at the leather cuff, sliding it up and down his wrist to try to scratch at the skin underneath. The area still felt strange, dry and uncomfortable. He undid the ties holding the bracelet in place and took it off, slipping it into his backpack. He rubbed the underside of his wrist on his jeans, trying to get the strange feeling to go away, but it didn’t help. 

He turned his wrist over, rubbing at the irritated skin, eyes roving over the Timer that was now visible. Steve had worn a leather cuff since he’d met Bucky over ten years before. He removed it only when it could get wet, but otherwise he kept his zeroes covered. It was easier than being constantly reminded that his soulmate was missing. 

But now, with his cuff off, he could plainly see the row of numbers on his wrist. 

The row of numbers that was systematically counting down to a period of time approximately a year in the future. 

“What the fuck?” Steve whispered. He stared at his wrist, eyes narrowed as he took in the diminishing numbers. He frowned and rubbed at his wrist, but the numbers didn’t change back to the zeroes he was expecting. 

The proof that James ‘Bucky’ Barnes existed in the world was gone. 

“What the fuck?” Steve said. He stared at the numbers. He couldn’t understand what he was looking at.

His phone started to buzz with an incoming telephone call. He answered it automatically. 

“Hey man, what’s up?”

“Hey Sam,” Steve said, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the numbers. 

“You in class?”

“No.” 

“Cool, because I’m not either. My preceptor cut me loose early. Want to grab some coffee?”

“Sure,” Steve mumbled. “Sam, what does it mean if your zeroes turn back into numbers?”

“Zeroes to numbers? You mean in math?” 

“No. My Timer.”

“Your Timer?” Sam repeated. “It’s changed from zeroes to numbers?”

“Yeah,” Steve said. Forty-five seconds had ticked down since Sam had called. 

“Oh, shit.” Sam’s voice became really quiet. 

That tone wasn’t reassuring. Steve huffed out a laugh he didn’t feel. “Do you mean ‘oh shit,’ good? Or ‘oh shit’ bad?”

“Where are you?” Sam said. “I can be where you’re at in no time.” 

It was bad. There was no way Sam would be reacting like this if it wasn’t bad. “Sam, tell me. Please.”

“Steve,” Sam said, and just the way Sam said his name made Steve’s heart plummet. “You know that Timers aren’t meant to start up again, right? If your Timer has started up again it means that the Universe has paired you with another soulmate.” 

“Another soulmate?” Steve chuckled without any humour. “Why would I have another soulmate? That doesn’t make any sense.” He stood and started pacing.

“Steve,” Sam said again. “I think you know what I mean—”

“No, Sam,” Steve interrupted. “I don’t know what you mean. I have my soulmate. It’s Bucky. I met him when I was eleven. Remember? He’s still my soulmate. Nothing’s changed.” His heart was pounding. He felt sick. 

“But your Timer—”

“Is broken! My Timer must be broken somehow. It’s got to be.”

“Steve,” Sam said, infinitely gentle.

“No!” Steve shouted. A few students walking by turned to look at him, and he lowered his voice. “No, Sam! No! That’s _not_ what happened!” He could feel his throat tightening, the burn of tears in his eyes. “Bucky is fine. He’s _fine!_ ”

“God, Steve,” Sam said. “I’m so sorry.” 

“He’s fine,” Steve repeated. His voice caught. He felt the hot streak of tears down his face. He sagged back to the bench, leaning over. “He’s got to be fine. Sam, please.” He covered his eyes with his hand, shoulders shaking as he cried.

“I’m so sorry,” Sam repeated. “Jesus, Steve. I’m so, so sorry.” 

“How can he be dead?” Steve sobbed. “I only ever got to see him once! How can he be dead?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what happened. But you losing him? It’s the worst thing I can think of. I can’t even imagine how terrible it must feel to see your Timer and know that Bucky’s gone.”

Steve nodded his head, knowing that Sam couldn’t see it. He was crying too hard to speak. 

“Tell me where you are. I’ll be with you in ten minutes.” 

“No,” Steve managed to choke out. “I just want to go home.”

“Okay,” Sam said. “Good idea. I’ll meet you there.”

“No,” Steve said again. He couldn’t stand the idea of Sam being there, looking at him with compassion and pity as Steve did his best to not completely fall apart. “No, please. I just want to be alone.” 

He heard Sam blow out a frustrated breath. “Alright,” he said finally. “Okay. But I want you to text me as soon as you get home. I mean it. I don’t give a shit when you get there. Just text me.”

Steve laughed slightly at the sincerity in Sam’s tone. “I will, I promise.” 

“I’m holding you to that,” Sam said. “And I might make you text me tomorrow, too.” 

Steve knew a command when he heard it. “I will.” 

“You’ll get through this,” Sam said. “It hurts more than anything right now, and it ain’t going to feel any better tomorrow. But you’re not alone. You’ll get through this. I swear.” 

Steve nodded, feeling a fresh wave of tears start at Sam’s words. He was never going to see Bucky again. Everything he’d hoped for, all his dreams about when and where and how he was going to see his soulmate again were gone. Bucky was dead, and he’d never know what happened. “He’s dead,” he sobbed. “Bucky’s dead and I never even got a chance to say good-bye.” Steve cried into the phone, letting Sam’s soothing words wash over him. It felt like his heart was broken, smashed beyond repair. There wasn’t a surgery in the world that could fix it.

* * *

Bucky opened his eyes, blinking himself back to reality. 

He was immediately aware of three things: One, he wasn’t dead, which felt kind of amazing considering he was pretty sure he’d bought the farm back there in the shit show that had been their deployment. Two, he was in a hospital, which made sense considering the whole not-dead thing, and three, apparently Clint hadn’t died in the sandbox, either, which was probably the most amazing thing of all. 

He turned his head and smiled at his cousin. “You’re not dead.” 

Clint was sitting on one of those awful plastic hospital chairs by Bucky’s head. He was unshaved and his hair was a spiky mess like he’d been running his hands through it for a while. Natasha, his pretty redheaded soulmate, was sitting on his lap, and they were both looking at him with such relief that Bucky felt almost embarrassed. 

“Neither are you,” Clint said with a grin, and then immediately broke down sobbing. 

Natasha embraced him, letting his forehead rest on her shoulder. She looked at Bucky, deep affection in her eyes. “He’s been a little worried. We both have.” 

“Sorry,” Bucky mumbled. Then he remembered his manners. “Nice to meet you.” 

“Nice to meet you, too,” She said. She rubbed Clint’s back as she spoke and kissed the top of his head. 

It was nice, to see Clint and Natasha together. He’d figured she was pretty cool from the Skyping they’d done, but it was nice to realize that she was as caring and compassionate in real life. Clint deserved that. He deserved all the happiness. 

It was what he’d wished he could’ve had with Steve. He shook his head minutely to clear that thought. Steve was dead and he was alive and apparently that wasn’t going to change anytime soon, which was probably a good thing, really. He used the remote to lever the head of the bed into a sitting position, tensing for the pain that he expected to come. 

There was none. He located the IV in the back of his right hand that was attached to a bag hanging above his head. So, he was on the good stuff. That was a relief. He knew he was tough, but he really wasn’t a fan of pain. 

“You lost your left arm.” Clint’s eyes were red from his crying jag, but he looked a bit more pulled together. 

“I figured,” Bucky sighed. His memory of getting blown to shit was pretty hazy, but the memories of seeing the remains of his exploded arm and Clint sprawling, a dead weight on his chest, were unfortunately very clear. It was hard to wrap his head around the fact that he was now an amputee. At least he was naturally right-handed, so there was that. He looked at his left side. The remainder of his arm was wrapped in pristine white bandages that ended neatly just above where his elbow should have been. It felt like way too much to deal with right that second. He looked away. Then he realized he was missing probably the most important question. His heart squeezed. “Holy shit, Clint! Are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah.” Clint waved off the question. “The bullet hit my tac vest. The impact cracked my ribs and jolted me hard enough that I passed out, but I’m good. Nothing permanent. It’s just you who got really fucked up.” His face fell again, tears glistening. Natasha stroked her hand through his hair, and Bucky could see how just her being there was doing wonders for Clint’s state of mind. He was suddenly profoundly grateful she was there.

“Thank God,” Bucky said fervently. The idea of Clint being permanently hurt—or killed—especially because of him was something Bucky couldn’t even think about. 

“You both were lucky,” Natasha said. She moved off Clint’s lap to offer Bucky some water, which he took gratefully. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was.

“Yeah,” Clint nodded solemnly. “I mean, I know you lost your arm, and your left side’s gonna have some pretty awesome scars, but we’re alive.” He squeezed his eyes shut, clearly overcome with emotion again. “I don’t want to do this anymore. Seeing the medics pounding on your chest like that…I just can’t do that again.” He covered his eyes with his hands. 

Bucky frowned. He looked at Natasha, who was still standing by his bed. “What?”

“You died,” Natasha said simply. 

‘Your heart stopped.” Clint looked up again. “You lost too much blood, and then your heart stopped. The medics were just _pouring_ blood into you. They told me not to get my hopes up. They told me—” He broke off, crying.

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky muttered. 

“You were lucky,” Natasha repeated. 

“I wanna quit.” Clint wiped his eyes. “I want out, Bucky. I don’t want to be a soldier anymore. I wanna go back to New York and not worry about…about the people I love dying. I wanna go home.” 

“Okay,” Bucky said. It was possible the Army would have a desk job for him now that he was armless, but the idea of staying in the military if he couldn’t be out in the field didn’t sound appealing at all. And he loved Clint. Making him happy by quitting wouldn’t be a hard choice. “Yeah, we can do that.”

“Thank you,” Clint breathed. “Thanks so much. I’ve been wanting to quit since the second you were injured. I’m so glad.” He actually smiled, which was a way better look for him than tears. 

“My parents own a fairly large house in Park Slope,” Natasha said. “There’s plenty of space. I’m sure the two of you would be welcome to stay while you’re getting settled.” 

Bucky blinked. His immediate concern about how he and Clint would afford to live in one of the most expensive cities in the world completely dissipated with Natasha’s offer. He’d never met Natasha’s parents, but he was sure he and Clint could make it work. They’d shared military barracks before. Sharing with a decent family couldn’t be nearly that difficult. “That’s really nice of you.”

“Natasha’s dad is great!” Clint exclaimed. “Scary as fuck, but a really good guy.” 

“And my mom’s a social worker,” Natasha said. “She works for Children’s Services, but she knows a lot of people who can help the two of you out when you’re ready to start looking for a job.” 

“That’s great,” Bucky said. He licked his lips. “I think I’ll try and be a teacher. I like training the new recruits and I like kids. Could be good.” He’d never thought of being a teacher before, but as soon as he’d started to even consider a different job, it’d popped into his head. It felt like it’d be a good fit.

“You’d be a great teacher!” Clint enthused. “And me? Well, I think I want to be a paramedic. It might feel good to save some lives for a change, you know?” His smile was painfully sad, and Bucky suddenly realized that Clint had probably wanted out of the military for a long time but hadn’t said anything, because of how gung-ho Bucky had always been. 

Bucky swallowed down the rush of emotions that thought carried. “You’d be a great paramedic.” His head was swimming a little with the way things were changing so fast. But that was the way life was, wasn’t it? One minute you’re a soldier, the next a civilian. One minute you have an arm, the next you don’t. One minute you have a soulmate… The leather cuff he always wore was gone. Probably cut off in the back of the helo that had pulled him out of the sandbox. He flipped his wrist over, looking down at the numbers he knew would be there.

They were, still merrily counting down to a new zero. He waited for the feeling of anguish to rise in him: the brutal sorrow that Steve was dead and they’d never be together, but it didn’t come. Instead he just felt a quiet sadness. Maybe it was because of the drugs dulling everything, or maybe because he’d nearly died himself. But right then, at least, the loss was easier to bear. 

He'd take the reprieve, no matter how temporary. It was nice not being in pain.

* * *

“I’m really glad you decided to come out tonight.” 

Steve looked up from where he’d been trying to draw a face on the table in the condensation from his glass. He realized that it looked a bit like twelve-year-old Bucky and he quickly swiped it away with the side of his hand. He turned to Sam and attempted a smile. “Can’t hide forever.” 

“Grieving isn’t hiding,” Sam said quietly. They were sitting at one of the larger booths at an off-campus bar that Steve and his friends frequented. It played good music and had cheap drinks and the table weren’t too sticky. Normally Steve met up with Sam and his other friends, Scott Lang, Tony Stark, Peter Quill and his soulmate Gamora Ben-Titan once a week to drink, complain about school work and hang out. But after Bucky died Steve stopped going. 

Tonight was the first time he’d been out with his friends in almost four months, and he still wasn’t sure he was happy with his decision. 

“Yeah,” Peter chimed in, gesturing towards Steve with his glass of beer. “Losing your soulmate has got to be, like, really hard. I get why you’ve been going incognito.” He turned to Gamora half-way through speaking and she snuggled against him. Steve looked away.

“I can’t believe your soulmate died,” Scott said morosely. “It’s hard to believe the Universe would be that cruel.”

“Shit happens.” Tony shrugged. “My parents died when I was nineteen. Pete’s mom died of cancer when he was eight. Everyone’s got some kind of loss or pain tucked up inside them. What happened to Steve is brutally unfair but he’s not the only one to get dealt a shitty hand.”

“Way to bring up the mood.” Gamora glared at Tony. “How is that meant to make Steve feel better?”

“I’m just being honest.” Tony glared back. “Life sucks and people die. That’s that.” 

“Well maybe you should be a little less honest.” 

“And maybe _you_ should—”

“Stop,” Steve interrupted before Gamora and Tony could get into a fight. Usually the two of them got on well, but both had quick tempers and strong opinions. Steve was definitely not in the mood for either from them tonight. “Tony, you’re right. Life isn’t fair, and Gamora, you’re right, reminding us all of that fact isn’t going to make anything better. So, can we change the subject now, please?”

“Amen to that,” Sam muttered.

“I’m sorry your parents died,” Gamora said. 

“It was a year ago. Ancient history,” Tony replied in a way that implied it was anything but. “So, what should we talk about?”

“Who’s your friend that we’re going to meet tonight?” Scott asked Steve with a wide grin. “She cute?”

“My friend’s name is Natasha,” Steve said. “And she’s very cute. She also found her soulmate already, so don’t get your hopes up. He’s coming tonight, too.” 

“Damn,” Scott muttered. 

“What are you upset for?” Peter asked him. “Your Timer won’t hit zero until, you’re, like, forty!” 

“Thirty-three, asshole.” Scott glared at him, then grinned. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want to practice.” 

“Up top.” Tony raised his hand and Scott high-fived him. 

Gamora rolled her eyes. 

“You’re just contemptuous because you met Peter when you were still in diapers,” Tony said to her.

Gamora opened her mouth to argue, then shut it and shrugged. “Point. But you’re just jealous because you have to wait until you’re actually forty.” 

“Thanks for the reminder,” Tony said. “I’d hate to go a whole day without being reminded of my twenty-year wait.” 

“She’s going to be so worth it,” Sam said. 

Tony pointed at him. “And that’s why Sam’s my favourite.” 

Steve turned his right wrist over to look at his numbers. He’d stopped wearing his wristband about two months ago, having decided that he needed to face his grief head on. His Timer was still winding down, now pointing to a date approximately six months in the future. He wasn’t sure if the constant reminder that Bucky was gone was helping, but meant he was getting used to the idea, even if it still hurt. 

It still _really_ hurt. He rubbed his face. “Could we stop talking about soulmates?”

“Of course, Steve,” Sam said. “Anything you need.”

The table went quiet. 

“How about those Jays?” Peter said after the silence got almost overbearing. 

“The Blue Jays? You follow a Canadian team?”

“Are the Blue Jays Canadian?” Peter asked Tony. “I always thought they were from Toronto.”

“Toronto is in Canada, you idiot! Did you learn nothing in high school geography?” Tony threw up his hands. 

“I thought it was Toronto, Ohio.” 

“The Cincinnati Reds are the baseball team from Ohio.” 

“The Blue Jays are a baseball team?”

Tony turned to Gamora. “I know he’s your soulmate, but it’s not too late to ditch him for someone with brains.” 

Gamora laughed. “It’s okay. He’s really pretty.” She stroked Peter’s head and he leaned into her touch. 

That started a discussion about which city actually had the best baseball team, which then started an argument about whether the Red Sox were actually better than the Blue Jays, which Steve almost felt like joining. 

But he stayed quiet and nursed his beer and watched as Gamora and Tony got more and more passionate about the subject. Just before he was going to cut in to get them to back off for a second time, he saw Natasha walking towards their table, holding hands with a broad-shouldered man with short, dirty-blond hair. It was obviously Clint.

“Hey,” Natasha said as she approached. Steve stood and she hugged him, holding him like they were good friends. He realized with a start that they probably were. They’d texted every day when she’d been in Germany, and then started hanging out at least once a week after class. After Sam and his mom, Natasha had been the third person he’d told about losing Bucky, and she’d brought him ice cream and they’d cried together. In return she’d shared her elation and fear about being with Clint, and how scared and happy she was that James and Clint were both going to live with her and her parents once they’d been formally discharged from the Army. Steve had validated her fears and tried to reassure her that everything would be okay.

It’d taken nearly three months for Clint and James to make it home, and this was the first time Steve was meeting Natasha’s soulmate. Natasha let go of Steve and he and Clint shook hands. He was handsome in a quirky way, interesting enough that Steve wouldn’t have minded using him as a model for a portrait. If he was still drawing, that was. He hadn’t really done much sketching since Bucky died.

Steve introduced Natasha and Clint to the table, and they sat down. Steve felt marginally better now that Natasha was there. It was good to see her happy and with her soulmate, even though it was yet another reminder of his loss. 

“So, what’s it like being back in New York?” Sam asked Clint. 

“Good. It’s good.” Clint smiled. “I forgot how busy it was, though. There are so many people! But it’s good. I like it.” 

“Clint’s going to study paramedicine in September,” Natasha supplied. “He’s going to apply to the FDNY.”

“He should get the veteran’s credit,” Sam said. He smiled and patted Clint’s arm. “You’ll be a shoo-in.” 

“I sure hope so.” Clint grinned. “There seems to be a lot of benefits for jobs that us army guys get. Like my cousin, James? He’s going to apply for teachers’ college under a special program for veterans.” 

“How is James?” Steve asked. 

“He’s good,” Clint said. “He’s been fitted for a prosthetic, but it’s not really that great. It’s heavy and not very responsive, but that’s what you get if you don’t have insurance.” He shrugged. 

“Wait,” Tony leaned forward. “Your friend needs a prosthetic?”

“Yeah. Hs left arm was blown off.” 

“Wow, that sucks.” Scott winced. 

Clint made a face. “Better than being dead.” 

Tony was still leaning forward. “My company is working on prosthetics that hook right into the nervous system so they feel and respond almost like real limbs. Do you think your friend would want to be part of an experimental trial?”

Clint’s eyes widened. “What?”

“That’s Tony Stark,” Peter said, pointing at Tony. “You may have heard of him?”

Clint’s eyes were still wide. “Like Stark Industries? That makes all the cell phones? _That_ Tony Stark?”

“Cell phones, computers, car parts, stereos, medical devices…” Tony waved his hand dismissively. “Hashtag no big deal. So, what do you think? Your friend in?”

Clint was looking at Natasha. “What do you think? Do you think James would want that?”

“I think we should ask,” she said, smiling at Tony. 

“Excelente,” Tony said. He passed his phone over to Clint. “Put in your deets. My people will call.” 

“This is amazing,” Clint said. “I can’t believe you’re Tony Stark and you’re going to make my cousin a new arm!” 

“I have that effect on people.” Tony grinned smugly. 

The conversation started up again, but this time it was about Stark industries and what other innovations the company had made, first under Howard, and now under Tony’s leadership. 

Steve let the conversation wash over him, wishing he felt better. It was nice to be with his friends, and great to finally meet Clint. But seeing how close, how _happy_ Peter and Gamora and Natasha and Clint were together was more painful than Steve had realized it would be. He sipped his beer, his eyes falling on his rotating numbers every time he glanced at his wrist. Every second that his Timer lost darkened his mood a bit further. He realized he wanted to leave. 

“I need to go,” Steve said, breaking into the point Scott was making about the importance of Starkpads for modern education. He stood, fishing in his pockets for his wallet. 

“Go?” Clint said with a confused smile. “But Nat and I just got here!”

“Yeah, you can’t leave your friends with your friends like that,” Tony said. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve shook his head. “I just can’t.” 

“But this is the first time you’ve been out in _months!_ ” Peter whined. “You can’t leave yet!” 

“It’s okay. I understand,” Natasha said to Steve. “We’ll catch up later.” 

“Guys, let him go,” Sam said. “Don’t give him a hard time.”

“Thanks,” Steve muttered. His wallet wasn’t in his jeans. He fumbled through his jacket pockets, looking for it. 

“But he’s giving us a hard time by leaving!” Peter cried. “Steve!”

“What’s wrong?” Gamora asked. “Are you feeling sick?”

“No,” Steve said. “It’s just—”

“But we want you to stay,” Scott interrupted. He batted his eyelashes. “Please?”

Steve stopped his search for his wallet and closed his eyes, willing himself not to start crying or screaming or both. It had been a mistake for him to come out tonight, he realized. Four months after his Timer had reset was apparently too soon for him to try to be a normal human being. _Grieving isn’t hiding_ Sam had said, but right now Steve wasn’t sure he knew the difference. 

“Let him leave,” Natasha said to the group. “Can’t you see he’s upset?”

“Upset?” Peter asked. “Why?”

“Because Bucky died four months ago!” Steve shouted. “My soulmate _died_ and I thought I was ready to face everyone and their soulmates, but I’m not!” 

The table went totally silent at his outburst. Steve’s face flamed with embarrassment. Desperately he searched through his jacket pockets, trying to find his wallet so he could pay for his beer and get the fuck home. 

“Here,” Sam said quietly, passing Steve his wallet from where he’d put it on the bench beside him. 

“Thanks,” Steve grit out. He pulled out a few bills and put them on the table. His hands were shaking. 

Clint said something, looking shocked, but Steve didn’t hear him. His ears were full of the roaring of the blood through his veins. He’d never had a panic attack before, but he was sure he was having one now. 

“I’ve got to go,” Steve said. 

“I’ll walk you home,” Sam said. He already had his jacket on.

Steve wanted to protest, but he didn’t have the strength. He just wanted to go home and crawl into bed and never, ever come out. 

He gave a half-hearted wave to the table and turned towards the exit.

* * *

“How you feeling?”

Bucky looked up from where he’d been sitting on the examination room bench, trying not to adjust the too-small hospital gown for the hundredth time. He smiled at Natasha with an expression he was sure looked more like a grimace. “Like I’m going to throw up.” 

“You’re going to be fine,” Clint said, looking like he was also trying not to barf. “Tony Stark is really good at this shit. Your new arm is going to be amazing.”

“ _If_ I qualify for the program,” Bucky reminded him. He’d read all the literature the ‘Prosthetic Addition and Implantation Network’ had sent out before his appointment. He’d tried to not read too much into the fact the acronym was ‘PAIN.’ “My arm might be too injured for the implantation to work.” 

“You’ll qualify,” Natasha said with enviable confidence. “They did a great job in Landstuhl. There’s no way Stark’s technology won’t work with your arm.” 

“I hope you’re right,” Bucky muttered. He’d been feeling antsy all morning, and his impending appointment with PAIN was only partly the reason. The majority of it was because today was the day the Universe had decided he should meet his new soulmate. 

He glanced at his wrist, and then looked up to see both Natasha and Clint’s eyes on him. They both were equally aware of what was going to happen today, but they were following his lead and not mentioning it.

He was trying not to focus too much on the irony of meeting his soulmate in another fucking hospital. He knew he’d done his grieving for Steve, and he knew he was ready to meet his One, but it was hard not to think of Steve in a place like this. Hard not to wish that Steve hadn’t died and to wonder what could’ve been. 

But it was a moot point now. He’d be meeting his new One in less than ten minutes, probably while wearing a half-open hospital gown, hair that had been growing out for almost eleven months and a three-day beard. He hadn’t meant to show up looking quite so scruffy, but the anxiety about the appointment with PAIN had apparently removed the importance of good grooming from his mind. But it was his soulmate he was meeting, not going for a job interview. His soulmate would have to love him no matter what. Just like Steve had. 

He grimaced. 

“What’s wrong?” Clint was hovering nervously. “Are you in pain?”

“I’m fine,” Bucky said. It wasn’t much of a lie. He hadn’t been in pain since the second month he’d been in Germany. Whatever magic the surgeons had performed meant that he rarely felt any kind of phantom limb discomfort. The remaining part of his arm had healed really well.

“It’s hard to wait like this,” Natasha said knowingly. “A walk might help.” 

“Yeah.” Bucky rubbed the back of his neck. He knew she knew that it wasn’t waiting for the PAIN researchers that was making him nervous. “You’re probably right. I could use a drink anyway.” 

“What if the PAIN people get here before you come back?”

“They’re already fifteen minutes late as it is,” Natasha said to Clint. “Bucky can go for a walk. We’ll wait here. We can text him when they arrive.”

Clint looked like he was about to protest, but then he followed Natasha’s gaze back to Bucky’s wrist. There was now less than seven minutes to go. “Right. Walk,” Clint said, clearly understanding Natasha’s motivation to have Bucky go somewhere before he exploded from pre-soulmate anxiety. “That’s probably a good idea.” 

Bucky got up from the table and turned. “Am I decent?”

“It’s only open a little.” Natasha tugged ineffectively at his gown. “And your pants are still on, so you’re fine.” 

“Great.” Bucky winced. 

“Good luck,” Clint said seriously.

Bucky nodded at him and left. 

The hospital corridor was moderately busy, and Bucky found himself hyper-alert in a way that he hadn’t been since he’d been a soldier. Any one of these people could potentially be his soulmate: The harried-looking doctor, flipping through a chart; the woman laughing with another woman who looked like a relative; The young man on crutches; the old guy with a walker.

Bucky didn’t like the looks of any of them. He didn’t want to meet any of them. He stopped dead in the hallway as the realization hit him. He didn’t want to meet his soulmate.

It didn’t matter that his Timer had almost finished its countdown. He wasn’t ready to meet his new One. He wasn’t ready to say good-bye to the memory of Steve Rogers. He wasn’t ready.

He looked down at his wrist, heart in his throat. There were only two minutes left. He panicked. 

Bucky ran down the hall and shoved inside the first doorway he found. It was a supply room, packed floor-to-ceiling with items like boxes of medical gloves, packages of bandages and IV sets and boxes of syringes. It was also blessedly empty.

Bucky immediately went to ground. He ran between the shelving units at the far end and crouched in the back corner beside a clear plastic bag full of clean linen. His heart was pounding, the blood rushing through his ears, his breath heaving. He’d never had a panic attack before but he figured he was having one now.

He glanced down at his wrist, praying that the numbers had finished winding down already and that he’d missed his soulmate connection. He didn’t know what happened if you missed it, or if that was even possible. Probably someone, somewhere had hid inside a cave or something and purposely missed their connection and the results were probably on the internet. He’d have to go look that up sometime. See what happened. 

And now he was rambling inside his own head.

The numbers on his wrist showed nine seconds. _Fuck,_ he thought.

He heard the sound of the door open, and realized he’d forgotten to lock it. He hadn’t even tried. 

And that was his soulmate coming into the supply room. It was really happening. Bucky was going to meet his One whether he wanted to or not.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed, just as he saw someone stepped into the space between the racks. 

“Is someone in here?” the man said, just as both of their Timers buzzed on their wrists.

* * *

Steve was crazy busy.

It wasn’t just the volume of work, he’d handled more than a couple of patients a few times since he’d graduated nursing school and started working fulltime at _Maria Stark Memorial._ He was part of the team of general nursing staff who were called in to work floors that had staffing issues. He was usually only called in for the Emergency Department. But by some strange twist of fate he’d been asked to work Orthopedics. 

And Orthopedics was a lot of work.

The patients in Ortho all had limb issues, which meant that they needed a lot of help with their activities of daily living, they needed consistent pain control post-op, and they needed their dressings changed over their surgical incisions or their stitches removed. They also needed help with ambulating, or standing, or even getting up to a sitting position. Some of them even needed help with deep breathing if they’d had their operation within the last twelve hours. 

Steve had never been so busy in his life. 

He didn’t mind it, really, as he raced down the hallway to the storage room for the fourth time in the last twenty minutes. It kept him active and focused and it completely took his mind off the fact that today was the day that he was meant to meet his soulmate. 

Which was great, really. Because he didn’t want to think about that at all.

“Suture removal kit, bag of normal saline and blue pads,” Steve mumbled to himself as he jogged to the storage room, trying to keep in mind the supplies three of his five patients needed. He probably should grab a change of linen for patient number five, he thought. They’d be getting up soon for a walk around the ward and it’d be a good time to make their bed.

As he walked he purposely didn’t make eye contact with any of his colleagues, and certainly none of the patients. The New York State Board of Nursing was fairly forgiving if a nurse and a patient ended up being soulmates, but there was a process involved and forms that needed to be filled out which was nothing that Steve actually wanted to do. 

The truth was, he didn’t want his new soulmate at all. 

He sighed as he pushed open the door to the supply room, purposely not looking at his Timer. He’d left it exposed the way it’d been for the last six months, hoping that he’d finally get used to it counting down. He had gotten used to it. It no longer startled him the way it did, nor did he feel the terrible rush of anguish that the countdown used to bring. But he still didn’t feel either excited or happy as the time continued to run out. 

But fate was fate, and there was no way he could avoid it. He just hoped that his new soulmate wouldn’t be too disappointed that Steve wasn’t that excited to meet them. 

He let the door swing shut behind him and surveyed the supply room, trying to remember where he’d seen the items he’d need. 

They were in the back corner, Steve realized. He stepped into the space between the stacks.

“Fuck!” someone exclaimed.

“Is someone in here?” Steve said, at the same time that he saw him. A man was crouched by the far wall, looking like he was trying to hide behind a bag of clean laundry. 

Both of their Timers buzzed.

* * *

Bucky stood up slowly as the other man took a step back. He was an easy six foot, and probably a couple inches taller. Tall enough to clear Bucky’s six-foot height. He was handsome, with a straight nose and a strong jawline and a body that wouldn’t look out of place on a NFL Quarterback. He had blond hair the colour of wheat in summer and eyes as blue as that same summer sky. Bucky knew this man. He _knew_ him. He'd thought about the eleven-year-old version of this guy every day for the last twelve years. His throat went dry.

The guy had his hands out, like he wanted to ward Bucky off but didn’t want to be rude about it. 

“I’m sorry,” The guy said, “I’m not really in a soulmate state of mind—”

“Steve?” Bucky whispered, and then: “ _Steve?_ ”

“How’d you know my name?” Steve said, and then he gasped. “ _Bucky?_ ”

“Steve,” Bucky said reverently. His eyes welled with tears that he didn’t even try to contain. 

“I thought you were dead.” Steve’s hands were on Bucky’s shoulders, his eyes searching over every inch of him.

“I thought you were smaller,” Bucky said. It was a stupid thing to say, but obviously he wasn’t in charge of his brain anymore. 

“I grew nearly two feet after my heart surgery,” Steve explained, still doing his visual inventory of Bucky’s body. His eyes landed on the wreck of Bucky’s left arm. “Jesus, Buck,” he breathed, and Bucky’s heart leapt at the nickname. “What the hell happened to you?”

“I joined the army.”

“I thought the military was well-armed,” Steve said with a grin. It was a ridiculous thing to say, but both Steve and Bucky burst out laughing, until suddenly they weren’t laughing anymore, they were crying in each other’s arms.

“I thought you were dead,” Steve wept. “My Timer. It reset almost a year ago and I thought you’d died. I thought you were dead, Bucky. I’m so sorry.” He was clutching Bucky to him, one hand deep in Bucky’s hair, the other tight his back.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Bucky said, tears coursing down his face. He was holding Steve around his waist, close enough that he could feel Steve’s chest heaving. “My Timer reset years ago. The day after I met you. I didn’t know you were still alive. I swear to God Steve, I didn’t!”

“Is that why you never tried to find me?” 

“Yeah,” Bucky confessed. “I met you that night, but the next morning my Timer had reset. I thought you’d died during your operation. I’m so sorry.” 

Steve moved back so Bucky could see his face. He wiped at his eyes. “But, I _did_ die. During the operation. My heart stopped. It wasn’t for very long, but I died.” 

“Holy shit,” Bucky breathed. He thought back to what his cousin had told him about his injury in the desert. How the medics had said his heart stopped from loss of blood. Clint had said they’d been performing CPR, trying to keep what little blood he had left circulating while they poured more into him. “I think I died, too.” 

“Oh my God,” Steve said. “I died and your Timer reset. Then _you_ died, and so did mine. But it was for each other. Our Timers had just reset for each other!”

“Holy shit,” Bucky said again. “All this time, all these years, I’ve been cursing the Universe for taking you from me, but it didn’t. It _didn’t!_ We were meant to be together, all along.”

“I love you,” Steve said, tears still in his eyes. “I’ve loved you since I was eleven. I never stopped. I love you.” 

“I love you, too. I always have and I always will.” 

“I never want to lose you again,” Steve said fervently. “I won’t go through that again. I can’t”

“You won’t have to,” Bucky said, just as forcefully. “I promise.” 

Gently he pulled Steve closer, angling his face up to slot his lips against Steve’s. Steve didn’t resist, but melded against him, his mouth pressed up against Bucky’s, their bodies fused chest to hips. 

Bucky felt like every nerve was sparking with sunlight, like his heart had been lit from within and was glowing like a beacon. He moaned and leaned further into Steve, parting his lips so Steve’s tongue could slip inside. It felt like he’d waited his entire life for that moment. He realized that he had.

His phone rang, loud enough that he and Steve jumped back. 

Bucky fished it out of his pocket. He flashed Steve a sheepish look. “It’s my friend Natasha. Hey” 

“PAIN team has finally arrived,” Natasha said. “You okay to come back?” There was a wealth of understanding in that statement and Bucky loved her so much in that moment it almost hurt.

“Yeah,” he said. “I can come back.” He grinned at Steve. “I got someone I want you to meet, anyway.” 

Natasha squealed with delight. “See you soon!” She keyed off. 

“Natasha?” Steve asked. “As in Clint’s soulmate Natasha?”

Bucky frowned in confusion and nodded. “How’d you know that?”

“She’s one of my best friends.” 

The penny dropped. “ _You’re_ the Steve that she’s been hanging around with? The one that texted every day when she was in Germany when Clint was injured? That Steve?”

“Yeah.” Steve grinned, then his expression faltered. “If only I’d known—”

“No. None of that.” Bucky shook his head. “I’ve spent way too much of my life regretting not having you in it. But you’re here now and I’m going to enjoy every second.” He took Steve’s hand.

“I love you,” Steve said.

“I love you, too,” Bucky replied. “And you’d better get used to hearing it, because I’m going to be saying it a lot for the rest of our lives.” 

“I like the sound of that,” Steve said.

They left the supply room hand-in-hand.


End file.
